


All Bets are F*cking Off

by Deathbyhook



Series: The F Word [2]
Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Comedy, Established Relationship, F/M, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 05:57:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9421505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deathbyhook/pseuds/Deathbyhook
Summary: Scott and Stiles tend to get them in trouble in class, and if Lydia gets involved? They're done for... well Stiles is for sure.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is still a part of my own stydia universe. As I’m sure you’ve seen they’re in no particular chronological order, so you can decide at which point after his rescue this is:)) anyway I hope you like this one!!

~~~~  
Lydia is in the classroom next door. He can hear her heartbeat. And his knee, not so unconsciously, bobs along to its rhythm.

“Geesh, and I thought I was bad with Allison,” Scott quips.

“Huh?” Stiles swallows his heart hammering in his chest. Horribly failing at willfully erasing the blush spattering his cheeks.

Scott rolls his eyes, and shines his head with a small smile. Then as if a bulb goes off over his head, he peeks over to his new beta.

“Wanna make a bet?”

“Who’s gonna claw who’s throats first? Cuz I can tell you, you’ll lose,” Stiles is rubbing his face. The blush persists as much as his friend does.

“Hardy har,” Scott scoffs, writing something down on his paper.

“McCall! Stilinski! I know you boys think you have some “we live above the rules” complex; but save the bromance for later and- Shut! Up!“

This earns Scott a glare from Stiles; which is hilarious on all accounts. Oh how the tables have turned!

When Finstock finally puts up the newspaper (his mirthful smirk hidden), Scott finally slides over the note.

‘I bet you can’t go without touching Lydia, for a day’

Stiles’ hand crumples the paper and chucks it at Scott. The newspaper at the front of the room folds down at the corner; a suspicious eye glaring at the two. Their classmates collectively rolling their eyes. Stiles throws up his hands in defense and Scott chuckles ducking his head.

As soon as everything resumes to it’s quite study, Stiles angrily scrawls a response. The paper rips. He huffs. Begins again. It folds mid sentence, he growls. Scott smugly keeps an eye on Finstock. Stiles finally finishes, and clumsily shoves it against Scott’s chest.

The alpha jerks slightly from the force of it.

‘You’re gonna lose this bet, too.’

The bell rings mercifully. And the whole class scrambles to escape.

“Yeah! Get out! It’s not like I’ll miss you or anything, you ingrates!” Finstock stamps a hand down over his desk.

“Scott! Stiles,” the two skid to a stop just in front of the door, several classmates shuffle past them, “I want in. Twenty bucks- twenty four hours.”

“Coach- with all due respect- how the hell?”

“What you think I was in Eichen for normal reasons?”

The boys look at each other for a minute. Scott shrugs and looks back at Coach, “Let’s make it forty, till the end of the school day.”

Stiles balks, “Ye of little faith.”

“Dude- no disrespect- but you probably won’t make it five minutes once we leave this class. You ain’t nothing but a hound, dog.”

“Did you just-” Stiles’ face contorts in a mixture of embarrassment and unadulterated shock, whilst his best friend pats his shoulder ushering him out of the class; not without throwing a nod and wink back at Coach.

“Stiles, why do you look like you’ve just eaten a bad batch of Malia’s cookies?” Lydia catches her wolf boy-toy swallow hard upon seeing her. Then his eyes light up as is his proverbial tail we’re wagging. She’ll never get over that. If she were the type to gush, she’d be drooling. Being a werewolf suited Stiles. But the fact it was Stiles, was all the more reason she’d drop to her knees right here and now. She reaches for his hand. But at the same moment he flinched and goes for something in his bag- odd…

“Hey- I resent that- I hadn’t realized the oven has to heat before you put them in!” Lydia brushes off the moment and winks at Malia, “but yeah- your face does remind come to think of it… you need to vomit?”

“WUH? Yeesh, girls! No,” he thumbs at his best friend, “this one decided to make a very bad pun; an Elvis pun no doubt… by the way he stole that song from a black lady so you should be ashamed of yourself.”

Scott runs the back of his neck, “it was a pretty bad pun… but you guys keep calling me the ‘dad’ of the pack! It’s inevitable I make the bad jokes!”

They all nod in thoughtful agreement, “Hey!”

The lunch bell rings, and they all shuffle to the cafeteria. Stiles’s eyes widen comically.

“Dude,” his hand slaps the dead center of Scott’s chest, who hisses and rubs at the spot, the girl’s keep walking not having noticed.

“What?” Scotts snaps when Stiles hasn’t supplied an explanation.

“It’s lunch,” Scott rolls is eyes.

“Yeah Stiles, its lunch, happens everyday at the same time,” nodding along with his words as if it were obvious.

“Scott. Lydia sits next to me. She’s handsy.”

“Ew, Stiles, I don’t need to kn- oh! I see your problem.”

They both look off to their table where Lydia is sitting Malia, her hand resting where he usually sits. Her fingers drumming.

“I’m gonna die.”

“Ah common man!” Scott slaps a hand on his shoulder, squeezing a little, “you’ll be fine. But I’ve got forty dollars riding on this. So go ahead and break if you want to!”

Stiles stubbornness bubbles to the surface. His lips pursed together, “you’re my best friend.”

Scott smiles until he realizes Stiles meant it as a sarcastic remark, rather than a declaration. He watches Stiles hunched over walking to his metaphorical gallows. Ew. He really didn’t need to know about Lydia’s hands.

“Stiles, what’s wrong?”

Oh no… Lydia knows. Scott can tell. That’s her conspiratorial voice.

Stiles gulps. Hard.

She scoots forward. Crosses her legs, making sure the top one folds over her left leg and his knee. He gulps. Again.

“Ru you feeling okay, sweetie?” She put a hand on his forehead, and then it trailed slowly down his face. She curled a few fingers and traced his jaw with her forefinger, dragging it under to his Adam’s apple. She circled it. It bobbed.

“Oh gawd!” Stiles exclaims. And he folds into her and holds her, “I can’t do it!”

Malia and Scott snort, and Lydia sways from the force of him hugging her. Holding her. Sniffing her.

“Stiles,” he buries his nose deeper into her neck, “we literally made out in Roscoe this morning. I woke up in your bed.”

“Gross,” the peanut gallery interjects.

Stiles and Lydia roll their eyes, “But Lyds, I missed you!”

And they all erupt in hilarity.

“Dammit McCall!”

Scott’s beaming. He just won forty bucks!


End file.
